


Listen

by miss_begonia



Series: Fey!Verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is the only teacher Blaine needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene/epilogue from [Make You Feel My Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/339675).

Blaine still gets up too early for Kurt. His alarm buzzes at six and he grabs it as quickly as he can, knowing that if he doesn’t Kurt will paw at him and groan and make him pay for it later when they’re in bed with time to spare, his hand slow sliding up Blaine’s thigh as he projects images of things too dirty for him to say out loud.

Blaine’s mornings are lonely rituals on weekdays, coffee and a bagel and no shoes until he leaves the apartment, afraid to make too much noise on the slick tile kitchen floor. Their place in Brooklyn is small and stifling in the summertime, but Blaine has a container garden on the fire escape and Kurt’s costume drawings line the walls and this is their first place  _together_. Blaine loves everything it is and everything it isn’t.

At school Blaine is Mr. Anderson, trying to get a bunch of surly middle schoolers to care about music. He plays them Pink Floyd and Beethoven and show tunes, and they respond to his enthusiasm with cool stares and whispers and giggles. Every so often, though, there is a kid who approaches him and wants to know more, wants an album name or a symphony number, a kid who can sing on pitch and on beat and loves music, loves it the way Blaine did when he was twelve and awkward and always waiting for the next time someone would beat him up. Those moments, those kids, are everything. They gleam even when his days feel grey.

At home he is  _Blaine, what the hell—_  and  _I can’t with you today_  and  _honey_  and  _baby_  and  _sweetheart_. He is  _oh, God, Blaine, oh – oh – oh God—_  and  _Fuck, Blaine!_  and  _shhh, Blaine, shhh, it’s okay._

_Shhh, shhh, shhh._

When Kurt is doing a play, which he almost always is, Blaine hardly sees him. Sometimes he buys tickets just to get to spend the evening with him. There are nights when Blaine doesn’t even tell Kurt he’s there, just pays admission and sits alone and watches, then goes home and waits and pretends he’s been home all along. 

He doesn’t know why he does this, exactly – maybe because he doesn’t want Kurt to know how much he misses him, doesn’t want him to feel guilty for pursuing his dreams and doing what he loves. Blaine loves watching Kurt onstage. He will go to see the same production ten times just so see the way Kurt changes every night, the different notes he hits, the fraction of an inch more he tilts his head, the inflections he gives to his speech. Blaine loves theater and music, but Kurt is a master of his craft. Every performance feels like a master class. Kurt is the only teacher Blaine needs.

One awful, sweaty summer night they angle the fan so it aims directly at the bed. Kurt strips down to his underwear and lies flat on his back on the bed, arms flung out to the sides. Sirens fade into the night and a bus sighs at the curb outside their window. Blaine strokes one hand over Kurt’s chest and feels him press, softly, at the edges of his mind. They have gotten better at this, at touching this way. Kurt tastes like rain when he’s tired, like earth when he’s sad. Kurt tells Blaine he feels humid when he’s angry, heavy air before a thunderstorm.

Kurt closes his eyes and covers Blaine’s hand with his own, his palm pressed flat over his heart. It beats slow and steady.

_I want—_  Blaine thinks, but Kurt shifts underneath him, and Blaine stops.

_Shhh_ , Kurt tells him silently.  _Listen._


End file.
